The ceiling moaned above their heads. Chelsey’s eyes moved to the staircase. She pointed at the upper landing and climbed the stairs, sliding along the wall in case Benson spun into view with a gun. LeVar gripped the wobbly banister and stayed close to his partner. Since summer, he’d prayed to one day meet Benson face-to-face. Pay the thug back for hurting Raven. LeVar wrestled with his emotions. Screw caution. He wanted to race past Chelsey, take Benson down and ensure he never hurt LeVar’s family again. But LeVar kept his cool. He respected Chelsey, and she was right to be cautious.
At the top of the landing, the upstairs blanketed in darkness, LeVar swung his gaze around the hallway. Three doors, all closed. He wished Chelsey allowed him to carry a weapon. LeVar wasn’t proud of his past, but he’d become an expert with a handgun during his days in Harmon. He felt naked without a gun. Two fists lost to a pistol every time.
Chelsey stood against the wall and leaned her head toward the door. This was the bathroom, LeVar recalled. Chelsey glanced back at him and shook her head. Moving without a sound, she crept to the next door and cupped her ear against the wall. Maybe Benson slept in the bedroom, curled up inside the closet with the blanket and pillow. LeVar wiped the sweat off his hands. Where the hell were Lambert and Aguilar?
When Chelsey reached for the handle, LeVar had a vision: Mark Benson smiling on the other side of the door, the gun aimed at Chelsey’s chest. He opened his mouth to warn Chelsey a split-second before the floorboards creaked inside the bedroom. Then the unmistakable click of a gun cocking.
LeVar dove at Chelsey and drove his shoulder into her side. The blast blew a hole through the door as they crashed against the floor.
The handle jiggled. Benson threw the door open, intent on finishing the job.
LeVar rolled to his back and kicked out, driving the open door against Benson’s head. The escaped convict dropped his face into his hand and staggered backward. His palm came away with blood, a crimson lightning bolt cutting across his forehead. LeVar grabbed Chelsey and dragged her across the hallway before Benson regained his senses. The next gunshot blew a hole into the floor beside LeVar’s feet. Dust rained down as he scrambled on his hands and knees toward the neighboring bedroom.
Chelsey spun onto her side and fired at Benson. The thug leapt into the bedroom as the bullet scoured plaster. As Chelsey struggled to her feet, LeVar shoved the neighboring door open. He pulled Chelsey out of the hallway as Benson’s arm snaked around the corner. The convict fired blindly, blowing holes in the walls and driving LeVar and Chelsey out of the hallway. He had little hope of shooting them. This was suppressive fire.
Chelsey stood beside LeVar inside the bedroom with the breath flying in and out of her chest. His ears rang from the gunfire. He didn’t realize Benson was halfway down the staircase until the criminal stumbled and struck the wall with his shoulder.
“He’s getting away,” Chelsey hissed.
They ran into the hallway. Benson expected them. The gun blast stole a chunk of plaster an inch above LeVar’s head. Chelsey turned and ducked as the next shot ripped past her face.
By the time LeVar and Chelsey lifted their eyes, Benson was thundering across the first floor. The front door flew open as a siren wailed in the distance. The deputies.
LeVar took off running with Chelsey a step behind. When he reached the open front door, the Forester fired to life and roared out of the copse. Taillights vanished in the distance before the sheriff’s cruiser turned down the road.
Chelsey slapped the wall.
“Dammit!”
LeVar pulled her aside as the cruiser sped after the fleeing Forester.
“Don’t worry. At least we know where he’s going. We’ll catch him before he boards that bus.” Moonlight caught Chelsey’s face. Blood trickled off the woman’s scalp and over her brow. “You’re bleeding.”
Had the bullet clipped Chelsey’s head? When she touched her scalp, her eyes rolled back and her legs gave out. LeVar grabbed Chelsey as she slumped to the floor.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
October 31st
8:10 p.m.
Valerie drew the curtains over the bedroom window, shutting out the night. Normally, she lived for full moons. But the lunar glow disturbed her tonight, reminded her of the frailty of life and how everyone walked a razor’s edge between happiness and danger. Evil hid in the shadows.
Loomis curled around her shins, begging Valerie to pet him. Reaching down, she scratched behind the kitten’s ears. The broadcast quality microphone sat on the desk before her. Though she’d never struggled with stage fright or writer’s block, Valerie couldn’t decide how to begin. Posts to three horror forums had gathered her fans for an important announcement. She watched their numbers swell as sweat beaded across her forehead.
She took a deep breath, swallowed, and clicked the microphone. No scary intro music tonight, no chainsaws or screaming. Just Valerie and the ugly truth. As she pulled the microphone toward her lips, she sensed the confused anticipation. This was no ordinary show, and her listeners didn’t know what to expect.
“Good evening, friends. This is Violet…” She dropped her head and closed her eyes. A sip of water, then she curled her fingers around the microphone stand. “This is Valerie Leonard. I’m an eighteen-year-old senior at Barton Falls High School. Violet Lyon is my stage name, if you will. It’s just another lie I hide behind when I bring you this show every week.”
The kitten leaped off the floor and padded across the desk. When Loomis licked Valerie’s
